Bang: Memoirs of a Relationship Assassin by David Wailing Page A

“Where’s my cab, then?”
    “You fucking nutter.”
    “Don’t you talk to your boss like that.”
    And then we burst out laughing, collapsing together in hysterics. My heart had been pounding the whole time, and now there was this great adrenalin rush from having got through it. Becky’s wild laughter told me she felt the same.
    “I’m so sorry! Of all times for them to bloody let themselves in…”
    “They were so nice to me! Your Dad would have driven me home!”
    “Oh God, I know!”
    We clutched each other, giggling, on a massive high. It felt genuinely good, I must admit. We both felt giddy and stupid and happy.
    And then, still not thinking, I tilted her head up and kissed her.
    A full minute later, when she finally pulled away, her eyes were gleaming. Bright blue. Au naturelle. Without a word, she took my hand and pulled me down the hall.
    I could have just left. There was nothing more to be done, really. My detective was long gone, having taken a whole evening’s worth of pictures. Another case over. Mission accomplished. I’d taken her out.
    But still, I allowed Becky to lead me into her bedroom.
    No charge, I thought. This one’s on me.

Chapter 7
     

Girls And Boys
     
    “Yello?”
    “Darren! Where have you been?”
    “Oh, all right mate, how’s it going?”
    I didn’t stop pacing round my flat. Mobile to my ear, I just kept pacing, round and round. “Where are you?” I asked.
    “Er, out shopping. With Vicki.”
    “Who?”
    “You know, Vicki, I was telling you all about her. The nineteen year old.”
    “Where are you, Toys R Us?”
    “Nah, it’s wossname, IKEA.”
    I stopped pacing. Try as I might, I just couldn’t picture Darren – with his scabby trainers and tracksuit bottoms and sovereign rings – pushing a trolley around IKEA on a Saturday afternoon. With a teenage girl. Was he winding me up?
    “Are you winding me up?”
    “Listen mate, I ain’t got long, wossoccurin’?”
    Deep breath. “Okay… I’ve sort of got a bit of a problem. With Jake’s bike.”
    “What’s wrong with it?”
    I told him. After a long while, Darren said “Oh mate… you are well and truly fucked.”
    I went cold. To the bone.
    “Have you told Jake?” he asked.
    “No… I sort of thought you might be able to do that for me.”
    Darren laughed down the phone at me. “You’ve gotta be kidding! I’m not telling that mad bastard that someone nicked his bike! I like my face where it is!”
    “Oh Jesus, look, will he really be that bad? I’m trying to get it back – ”
    “Do you know who took it?”
    “Not yet. But I reckon I can find out. I think it’s someone who… well, someone who knows me. Or at least knows what I do for a living.”
    Darren sucked air through his teeth. “Listen mate, don’t take this the wrong way or nothin’, these missions of yours are a laugh and all that. But I have to say, you’re a complete fucking dipstick for losing someone’s bike just so you could shag some bird. And Jake’s bike…”
    “I didn’t bloody lose it, someone stole it from me! Look, can you just have a word with him, tell him I’ll get it back – ”
    “I ain’t saying that to him! He’ll bottle me!”
    “One scratch on my bike and I’ll stick a broken bottle right in your pretty-boy face, cocksucker.”
    Another deep breath. “Darren. I just need a bit more time. Can you just… just let him know that I need it for this weekend. Tell him I’ll pay him a hundred, two hundred a day for it. And then I’ll get it back to him first thing Monday morning. Can you do that for me? Just pass on that message?”
    I listened to Darren click his tongue. “All right, mate, I’ll let him know. No worries.”
    Phew. “Cheers. I owe you a pint.”
    “Gonna do it by text, though,” he added, chilling me again.
    I heard a girl calling his name. Then the sound of a hand being put over the phone, muffled voices. “Gotta run,” said Darren suddenly. “Let us know how it goes, yeah? Stay